


low speed

by nagase (machogwapito)



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: Fingering, Gratuitous amounts of bottom!Nagase for my own pleasure, M/M, handjobs, lazy morning sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machogwapito/pseuds/nagase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matsuoka needs at least two hours to get ready for work, but it isn't necessarily because he has an intense morning routine, or anything. He just likes getting Nagase off before the day starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	low speed

**Author's Note:**

> A PWP morning sex type of deal kinda thing. I have ten million ideas for MaboNaga fic and I end up doing the porn without plot thing instead. :( Joke here is that I woke up at six in the morning, too, and it's about 8:16 right now and I have to go out for an appointment. Instead of eating breakfast I wrote porn. What a way to start the day.

The time is six in the morning, and they've got to be up and about in at most two hours to make it to a photo session right before some DASH filming. Matsuoka knows that Nagase enjoys his sleep--can see it, really, as he cranes his neck to peer over the man's shoulder and look down at his face. But he really should wake him up. Nagase's already scolded enough for almost always being late, and there's this unspoken rule that Matsuoka should be the one making sure that the man makes it on time (that is, if they're together the night before).

"Tomoya," he murmurs, his lips touching the back of Nagase's neck. "Wake up."

He doesn't. All Nagase does in response is murmur absently, his body shifting just a bit. Matsuoka chooses not to speak when he feels Nagase's backside press to his front. Being on time for work means not getting distracted by other things--though he does know that Nagase only ever needs ten minutes to get ready.

So Matsuoka tries again. "Tomoya." This time his words are right by the man's ear, and he lightly bites into the lobe, fingers tickling along Nagase's sides to wake him. "Wake up, you idiot." The whining he receives in response is muffled, but Nagase's squirming tells Matsuoka that this is working, at least.

"Five more..." Nagase whines, but Matsuoka isn't having any of that. He pinches Nagase's sides and receives a yelp and a backwards kick in response, though the latter is so terribly aimed that Nagase doesn't do more than graze the side of Matsuoka's leg.

Matsuoka shifts to sit up, his arms slipping from around Nagase's body entirely, and the younger man groans at the loss of heat. It's always a pleasure being able to watch Nagase like this, his ass and shoulders pressed to the sheets as he stretches and bites his lip. Matsuoka makes a pointed effort not to pay attention to the arch of Nagase's back, though the shape poking through Nagase's underwear does catch his attention somewhat.

Nagase's toes are curling and his eyes are half open, and Matsuoka smiles fondly as he sees him scratch at his tummy, his shirt riding up.

"Wha' time's it?" Nagase slurs.

Matsuoka grins toothily at him. "Ten minutes past six."

The groan of annoyance that leaves Nagase is very real, and Matsuoka tries not to laugh as he sees him start to kick his ankles against the bed sheets, his legs flailing. "We don't hafta be out 'till eight, damn it," Nagase growls, unimpressed. Matsuoka leans over him and drops a kiss to his forehead.

"I take more than ten minutes to get ready, Tomoya."

Nagase cranes his neck up, tugging Matsuoka down with his hands in his hair to kiss his mouth softly. They both taste like morning breath, but it could be worse.

"That's just 'cause you always like jerking me off before we go," Nagase argues.

And really--that's more than a little bit true. Matsuoka laughs and another kiss touches the corner of Nagase's lips, his nails delicately scratching at the trail of hair leading down beneath the hem of Nagase's boxer briefs.

"You like when I jerk you off," Matsuoka offers intelligently.

Nagase sighs, his head turning so he can give Matsuoka another lazy kiss. "I like when ya jerk me off," he says in response.

So Matsuoka delicately tucks his hand into Nagase's underwear, his teeth scraping over the man's lower lip. Nagase's mouth opens obediently and Matsuoka pushes his tongue in, and as his hand wraps around Nagase's dick and squeezes, he swallows the whimper that Nagase gives him in return.

The motion of their tongues is lazy, simple swirling and pressing and little rubs that send shivers down Matsuoka's spine. Nagase's cock twitches in his hand, and he feels the man's ankles sliding up the sheets beneath them as his knees raise and his legs spread. Matsuoka settles nicely between them, lips moving only so he can suck on Nagase's tongue, and when he pulls away completely he's pleased to see a flush colouring Nagase's cheeks.

"Cute," Matsuoka says, licking his lips.

Nagase pushes his hips up, clearly unimpressed. "Come on, Masahiro!"

So Matsuoka obliges.

He tugs down Nagase's underwear, and he laughs when it gets caught around Nagase's squirming ankles. Nagase's even more unimpressed with that, though Matsuoka notes that his erection doesn't flag whatsoever. He kisses Nagase's neck in apology, but he knows that he isn't totally forgiven until Nagase forces their mouths together again.

"Wait--" Matsuoka's letting out a huff of a chuckle against his lips. "I'm gonna spit--"

Nagase urges another kiss, hard and demanding, his head tilted and his tongue parting Matsuoka's lips. Matsuoka allows himself a shudder, and he strokes Nagase's cock slowly, tasting the man's sigh of delight.

There's a muted, wet sound as Nagase's lips detach themselves from Matsuoka's own, and he grins up at him. "What was that about spit?"

And, jeez, if that doesn't make Matsuoka feel almost embarrassed.

He spits into his palm and starts to jerk Nagase harder, his mouth tracing down the line of Nagase's jaw and down his neck, and he listens as Nagase's breath quickens, listens to the muted creak of the mattress springs beneath them as the younger man starts to rock his hips up into Matsuoka's hand. "Nnh..." Nagase whimpers, his toes curling into the sheets, and Matsuoka's free hand rolls Nagase's shirt up, his lips and teeth pressing to the dip of skin between his clavicle.

A quick bite has Nagase's hips jerking up in shock, and Matsuoka laughs into his skin, his thumb tracing from the base of Nagase's dick up to the exposed tip. "Such a masochist," Matsuoka teases, finger rubbing over the slit of Nagase's cock and swirling over the precome there.

Nagase only has half a mind to make an irritated sound, though Matsuoka covers his chest in little licks and bites, anyway.

He stops only to suck on the fingers of his free hand, jerking Nagase's dick all the while, and as the back of said hand gently urges the man's legs apart, Matsuoka's pleased to note Nagase's hips lifting obediently as well.

The knuckle of his middle finger brushes over Nagase's quivering hole, and then he uncurls the digit entirely to press it in.

Nagase shudders from head to toe, his hips stuttering up into Matsuoka's hand. The sheets wrinkle beneath his curled fingers and toes, and Matsuoka's absolutely smitten. A second finger neatly follows the first, and the light sting brings both a furrow to Nagase's brows and a twitch of interest to his dick.

Oh, how Matsuoka wants to fuck him. But he settles with moving his index and middle into Nagase's hole, listening to the muted, soft cries of pleasure, feeling the way Nagase's nails dig into his flesh when the man reaches up to clutch at his shoulders.

"God...!" Nagase's gasp is clear when Matsuoka curls his fingers up, and his fingers bury in his hair to tug Matsuoka down for another kiss, albeit more messy than their other ones.

A third finger slips in, and Matsuoka stretches and works his hole open, fingertips pressing and massaging over his walls. Nagase moans into his mouth and twists his hips beneath his ministrations, and the clear leak of precome from the tip of his cock tells Matsuoka precisely what it is Nagase wants to do.

The kiss breaks again, solely because Matsuoka wants to look at him, and the flush that colours Nagase's tanned skin--the darker red around his puckered entrance--sends desire thrumming through him.

"You're beautiful," Matsuoka teases.

"Shut up..." Nagase whines.

Nagase's entire body is trembling, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted in pleasure, and Matsuoka touches his thumb to the edge of Nagase's balls just as his pinky slips in. He stretches again--moves all his fingers again--and the cry that escapes Nagase's lips is unmistakable.

So he curls his fingers again, thrusting them into him harder, faster, the hand on Nagase's dick following the same relentless pace. Nagase's voice shakes and raises in pitch the more Matsuoka touches him, and as he pushes all his fingers in and curls them up at just the right time, Nagase's panting turns into a high-pitched whine.

"I'm gonna--I'm gonna--!"

Matsuoka's thumb presses into the slit of Nagase's dick, sliding down, and Nagase's entire body arches up in quick response, his walls tightening around Matsuoka's fingers.

Nagase comes.

Maybe it's almost embarrassing, this fascination with watching Nagase make a mess of himself. His flushed stomach is stained with his own release, drops of it touching the edge of his pectoral. Matsuoka milks him for all he's worth, each upward stroke of his hand bringing small spurts of come out of him.

Matsuoka kisses Nagase's sweaty forehead, the tip of his nose, the shape of those plump, parted lips. He removes his fingers from inside Nagase's entrance, and he hears more than sees the lazy slump of Nagase's hips onto the mattress when he's empty.

And he makes a show of smearing the mess on Nagase's belly upward with the hand he'd used to jerk him off.

"Nnnnnn..." Nagase whimpers in-between Matsuoka's insistent, tiny kisses. "I gotta shower..."

Matsuoka knows this, and he pulls away with a grin.

"You have an hour," he murmurs. "I'll make breakfast."

Nagase exhales shakily, nodding his head. "W-Wash your hands f-first," he offers in some pathetic transmutation of a tease.

Matsuoka relishes the way Nagase's cheeks flush darker when he licks his own fingers clean of his come.

The last thing he hears before he leaves the bedroom is Nagase whining about that not quite being what he meant.

And he laughs the entire way to the kitchen.


End file.
